


Rewritten

by sonofabitch_awesome



Series: Rewritten [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (slightly altered anyway), Destiel - Freeform, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Alteration, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/sonofabitch_awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean absentmindedly spoke an unknown spell out loud, but it’s a little too late now to regret his foolishness. Actually, it’s a lot too late. Years late, in fact, because he’s stuck in the past and this time’s Cas can’t send Dean back due to the spell’s limits. The hell is he going to do now?</p><p>It says part 1 of a "series," but it's really one story. Part 2 is just be a bit toward the end that's pulled out and muchly expanded on. I got a little carried away. :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> (Screencaps are from 2x15 for Bobby, 5x06 for Sam/Past Dean/Castiel, and 10x14 for Future/Current Dean.) 

**Rewritten**

There’s no dramatic swoosh of air around him, no blacking out and waking back up to a new world, no sudden flickering environment. At first, Dean doesn’t even know anything has changed at all. He’s in the shower when he idly (stupidly) attempts the incantation, so his eyes are shut and he’s a little distracted listening to the roar of the water and taking a moment to relish the awesome pressure against his back. 

It’s the little things at this point. If he’s on his way out – and he’s 99% sure he is – his hot showers are limited. Along with everything else. He might as well just try to enjoy them while he’s still alive again.

Dean had been in the library, paging through some old books in one of the last few boxes of unsorted crap. The particular book he’s thinking of now was unlabeled, black cover so faded it was slightly gray, vague lines along the spine suggesting where letters had been once before they’d faded. He was damn sure smart enough not to recite spells whose purpose he didn’t know, so he leafed through it and set it aside.

Now, though, Dean’s preoccupied by the stabs of water on his back and smell of shampoo in the air. And he finds himself wondering about the pronunciation of a particular invocation, rolling syllables and letters through his lips. He tips his head back and begins to rinse the shampoo from his hair. 

He makes another attempt a few minutes later, after turning the water off and running the towel over his head. No, that wasn’t anywhere close. Dean shrugs and pulls the shower curtain aside, drying off quickly and looping the towel over the top of the curtain rod. 

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, groaning, trying to ignore the constant burn of the Mark pleading for attention, as always. Tries one more version, more to distract himself than because he really gives a damn now. That sounds closer, he thinks, yawning. 

And only then does it really register that the bathroom light is off. Dean takes his hands from his eyes to check, and yep. So is the light from outside the room.

He frowns and grabs for the pile of his clothes on the toilet lid. Gone. He reaches for where he’d hung the towel, and it’s gone from the curtain rod too.

Weird. 

Dean’s confused frown smooths out into a look of disbelief as understanding dawns. _Shit_. Obviously he’d done something, hadn’t he?

The air smells different, too, Dean realizes, breathing it in as he covers himself and pokes his head out the doorway. “Sam? Either you or Cas around?” he yells, already knowing the answer.

Every light in the hallway, and in fact, every light in the entire Bunker, is out. Darkness has settled in so completely that it really doesn’t matter that Dean’s naked – _he_ can’t even see himself. The Bunker feels very much the same way it did when he and Sam first started exploring: stale air and oppressing blackness before they’d hit the switches.

He hits the bathroom switch and examines the area of the hallway he can see. There’s dust along the floor, just as thick as it had been two years earlier.

Dean shakes his head, mouth ajar. He exhales roughly. “I’m a _fucking_ idiot,” he says. “Time travel? Again?!!”


	2. Chapter 2

Jumping however many years back has left him without the clothes on his back, without his phone and contact list, and worst of all, without _Baby_ because they certainly hadn’t driven her to the Bunker yet. Dean doesn’t really know what numbers and cell phones he and Sam had in this time. Hell, he’s not sure he can remember every possible number from a year in particular. He’ll have to wing i—

His eyes widen as he fastens the pants he’s borrowing from a long-gone Man of Letters. 

_Wing._

“Cas!” he yells out, imbuing it with every sense of prayer and longing and whatever else works to get angels’ attention. There’s a good chance he’s not in the right time: this could be the time Cas stayed off Earth and Dean stayed with Lisa, or the time Cas was dead before returning with amnesia. This could even be so far in the past that Cas doesn’t know Dean yet, and now if he is listening, he’s wondering who this half-naked jackass is praying to him.

But no, when he picks up the blue long-sleeved shirt in front of him, there’s a very appreciated fluttering of wings behind him. Dean spins, and there’s Cas, frowning. “Hey! Good to see you.”

Cas is standing _way_ too straight and stiff. “What are you doing her–” He pauses, and his narrowed eyes open a little wider. “You’re not from here.”

Dean nods. “No shit. What year is it?”

“2009,” Cas says. Dean reels. That would be around the time that the Apocalypse was being staved off. The first one, anyway. 

“I’m from February 2015,” Dean tells him, clutching the shirt. “I don’t—Don’t have an excuse for this, but I read an incantation without really knowing what it did.”

Cas shakes his head. “No. Even _you_ can’t be that stupid.” Dean’s probably imagining things when Cas glancing down. He’s _not_ pausing his gaze on Dean’s chest on the way to the floor.

“Yeah, well, I…” Dean rolls his eyes. “Wasn’t really paying close attention to what I was doing at the time, sorry. Point is, can you zap me back home so I don’t screw things up yet?”

“Fine, Dean.” Cas reaches out and holds two fingers to Dean’s forehead.

Nothing.

Dean glances around. “Unless I’ve done some rearranging here since the last time I was in my own bedroom, I’d say that didn’t work.”

Cas frowns. “I don’t understand, it… Should have…” He presses his fingertips harder, focused and intense. 

“How ’bout I go find the book it was in?” Dean suggests before Cas ends up leaving bruises. He catches Cas’s hand and pulls it away, ignoring the feeling in his stomach that this small motion does to him. “And to answer your earlier question, Sam and I _live_ here now, in the future. It’s the Bunker.” He straightens out the blue shirt and slips his head through. “The Men of Letters lived here for years, and we found it two years ago. Well, three years in the future, for you, I guess.”

“Did you recognize the language?” Cas asks, following him to the darkened library. 

Dean flicks the switch on. “Nope. Which makes me even dumber, I know, so don’t rub it in.”

Most of the books in the library, Sam and Dean hadn’t had to unpack. They’d already been on the shelves and only needed dusting. But the box he’s looking for now is nowhere to be found. After a good two hours of searching the library, various rooms, closets, Dean is ready to admit defeat. In this time, after all, Bobby is still alive. There’s a decent chance he might know something.

He hauls another box back into the closet they’ve just futilely emptied. “I’m wondering, Cas,” he begins. “Where are Sam and I? I mean, Past Me? Or I guess this-time me? Right now?”

“Bobby’s,” Cas tells him, paging through one last book. “Wait, is this it?”

Dean stretches one arm straight out and across his chest, pulling the elbow in. Too many boxes, too much lifting. He hovers over Cas’s shoulder and skims. “Yep,” he confirms. “That was it.”

Cas sighs, the book falling forward in his grip as he lifts his gaze skyward. “Dammit, Dean.”

“What? What’d I do?”

“This spell has a three day time limitation,” Cas tells him. “There is no undoing it, and I have no way of sending you back. You’ll be stuck here until it wears off.”

Well, _that’s_ certainly annoying. “Shit,” Dean mutters, looking at the unfamiliar words. It’s not Latin or any language he recognizes. “I mean… _shit_.” He turns to Cas. “So what do we do?”

“I’m not sure,” Cas says, closing the book and staring down at it. “I’ll hold onto this book in case we find anything in it later. But I won’t be able to send you back to your own time until the spell is over. You probably would be brought back on your own anyway.”

Dean crosses his arms and leans against a wall, staring at the dust on the floor. “So the whole time I’m gone from 2015, will Sam and your future self know I’m gone?”

Cas shakes his head again. “I can let them know, if you’d like me to,” he offers. “That way they won’t worry.”

“Thanks, man,” Dean says without glancing up. He hears Cas fly off, and then he gets back to work putting the boxes back into closets and unused rooms.

A few minutes later Cas returns out of nowhere in front of Dean. Dean’s in the middle of carrying a box to what will be Sam’s room in their time, and he has no time to stop, his momentum carrying him forward into Cas’s torso. The box, and Dean’s fingers on it, bump him pretty good. “Shit! Sorry, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t seem at all affected, and Dean remembers then that this isn’t too long after he’d tried to punch him in the green room. And if _that_ hadn’t phased him, all the power Dean had behind his fist, then this isn’t going to do anything.

He backs away awkwardly. “So?”

“Sam said okay, that he’s glad you’re safe,” Cas begins, slipping his hands into his pockets and turning as Dean walks around him. “He also said something about a bond? He seemed to think he was making a joke.”

Dean sets the box against a wall in Sam’s future bedroom. He is _not_ blushing. Maybe it’s annoyance, or maybe the room’s warmer than the hallway. Something. “Sam’s an idiot,” he shoots back. “He’s talking about money stuff. You know. Stocks, bonds… That’s not a bad idea, actually,” he realizes, standing up and turning to face Cas. “I could buy a bunch of bitcoins.”

Judging from his trademark confused squint, Cas clearly has no idea what he’s talking about. Dean rolls his eyes. “Forget it. Anyway. Thanks for letting them know.” He starts to stride past Cas, but halts a few steps out of the room. He frowns and turns back. “Hey. You all right?”

Slowly, Cas looks back up to him. “My future self,” he says uncertainly. “He’s… different. Weaker.”

Dean nods again. “Yeah, I don’t wanna… tell you too much about the future, but… yeah. He’s sort of half-human now.” Angel with non-rechargeable batteries counts as half, right?

“He’s… He seems to be in a lot of pain,” Cas goes on, still frowning. “It was very strange to see him—me—like that.” 

Something stabs at Dean inside. It _would_ be strange to see Cas from late 2009 and current Cas side by side. After all that Cas has been through, what he’s been put through by both himself and by Dean… “I bet,” Dean says uselessly, clasping a hand on Cas’s shoulder. Cas glances at it but doesn’t step away. “Not gonna tell you things worked out for the _best_ , but… they are the way they are. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says. He lifts the side of his lip and looks up at Dean. “Well, at any rate, I can take you to Sam and Bobby, if you wish.”

“That would be _awesome_ , Cas, thanks,” Dean says quickly. “’Preciate it.”


	3. Chapter 3

When they appear in Bobby’s library, Cas’s hand on his forearm, Sam and Bobby are in the kitchen. Dean’s past self, however, is nowhere to be found. Fortunately. Dean has a feeling that if he were sitting around the Bunker and an older version of himself showed up claiming to be from 2020, he wouldn’t exactly handle it well. And if Past Dean reacts to Current Dean the way Alternate Future Dean had reacted back when Dean _was_ Past Dean—

Headache. Stopping there.

Sam is leaning against the counter, mid-gesture in the middle of a sentence, but he stops when they walk in. “Dean, h—Dean?” He does a double take, his brow furrowing. “You okay?” Bobby twists the chair over to face them, slightly suspicious.

“Is this the part where everyone tells me I look tired or something?” Dean scoffs.

“This is not our Dean,” Cas says, dropping his arm.

Bobby snatches a silver knife out of a pocket hanging off his chair. “I knew it,” he growls, and wheels forward. Sam spins and grabs a container of holy water from a cabinet.

Cas holds a hand out. “Stop! Both of you. It’s really him, just… older.”

Jesus. “I’m not _that_ much older,” Dean mutters, reaching forward for Bobby’s knife. “Long story short, I read a spell and it launched me back here.” Bobby glares at him, but lets him take it.

Dean cuts a short line into his left forearm. “See? Not a shifter.” He gives the knife back and accepts the holy water from Sam before splashing it on his face. “Not a demon.” _Anymore_ , he adds, with a bit of morbid humor. “You gonna believe me now?”

Sam takes the bottle back slowly, frowning. “What year are you from?” Bobby tucks the knife away again and wheels his chair back a bit.

“2015. Week or so after Valentine’s Day, actually.” Dean wipes his face off. “Don’t know why you couldn’t take Cas at his word.”

“Never said we wouldn’t,” Sam smirks.

Dean looks behind him toward the rest of the house. “So, where’s Past Me? Uh, Present Me to you guys, I guess?”

“Still sleeping,” Bobby says, darting a glance in the general direction of the stairs. “He was up late last night trying to find new cases.”

“Any luck?” Dean asks. Maybe if Past Dean found one, he could tag along. Old cases for old times’ sake.

Sam exhales. “Nope. Nothing. So, you read a spell? Were you trying to get somewhere else, or is this the time you were trying to get back to?”

Cas’s lips quirk.

“No,” Dean admits, his head inclined and his hand on the nape of his neck. “I… didn’t know what it was going to do.”

There’s a very loud, stunned silence.

Dean sighs and holds out both hands. “Go on, let me have it.”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

“What kind of idjit are you?!”

“I know, _believe_ me, I know. I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was doing at the time,” Dean explains. “Kind of talking to myself.” God, he’s missed that confused, judgey look Bobby’s giving him right now. “Well, I couldn’t figure out how to pronounce it in the book, so I set it aside, thinking I’d ask Sam later. And then in the shower, I’m washing my hair and sounding it out… I know, I know, okay!”

Bobby scoffs and rolls his chair over to the refrigerator to get a beer. “How many brain cells did you lose in the last five years?”

“Well, why didn’t Cas just—” Sam gestures vaguely. “…you back to your own time?”

“I tried, Sam,” Cas says. “It didn’t work. The spell was unbreakable – he’s stuck here for three days. I believe he’ll be yanked back to his own time after that.”

Dean leans back against the wall, crossing his arms. The cut he’d scratched is a little irritating, but the Mark is throbbing at the edge of his subconscious as always. “So what do we do? Hang out and play mirror buddies till I go home?”

“You two have been on cases nearly nonstop,” Bobby points out, looking at Sam. “A break might do us all a little good.”

Sam nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m wondering if there’s another way to break this spell earl—”

“Break what spell?” a slightly unfamiliar voice calls out from the stairs. A tad higher than it sounds from inside Dean’s own head.

Past Dean walks into the kitchen and stops cold when he sees Dean. “What the fuck.” Christ, Dean had forgotten how much cleaner-shaven he’d generally kept in the past.

Cas holds an arm out, not nearly enough to stop Past Dean if he wants to lunge forward but enough to get his attention. “It’s you from the year 2015,” he says. “Time travel spell.”

“Dean, we’ve—” Sam breaks off as both Deans both whip their heads in his direction. He gestures with his own beer. “Current Dean. _This_ -year Dean. We tested him. He’s not a Shifter or a demon or anything. But he is really stupid.”

“I’ll say,” Bobby cuts in. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean coughs. He turns back to Past Dean and tugs the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal the cut, speckled with a tiny amount of drying blood. “See? I can do the holy water thing again if you want.”

Past Dean still seems suspicious.

He’s gonna have to do _this_ factoid again. Dean sighs and mutters “panties” out of the corner of his mouth. Past Dean blanches and finally backs away.

For a second, Dean wonders how it feels (felt?) to first have to use the panties memory against a possible-future self from 2014, and then have it used on him by another possible-future self from _2015_. There’s a strange kind of symmetry. If the two Deans were alone, he would have added that the only one he’d told _about_ the Rhonda thing was his own self. In case there was any lingering doubt.

Past Dean shifts his weight back on his right leg. “So, um… How long you stuck here? I’m assuming since we’re all standing around—sorry, Bobby—bullshitting that Cas can’t take you back yet.”

“Three days,” Cas answers. “It was a spell.”

Dean can’t take the glare Past Dean is shooting him right now. “ _What?_ ” he snaps.

“Please tell me we’re not that _stupid_ ,” Past Dean spits. “You read stuff without thinking about it?”

Jesus, he is never going to live this down, in the past or in the future. Present. Whatever. Dean huffs in annoyance. “Have a little on my mind in my time. I wasn’t completely paying attention.”

“Yeah?” Bobby asks, interested now. He takes a long drink of his beer and rolls in a small arc with one wheel. “Like what?”

The room fills with silence. Three sets of eyes pin Dean. He shakes his head. “Oh, no. No, I’m not changing things here. Nice try.” He thinks for a second. “Hey, when was the last case you, or we, whatever, worked?” he asks Sam and Past Dean.

“We had to deal with the kid who was half-demon,” Sam says.

Dean can’t resist. “Oh. Well, let’s just say that even when I’m outta here, you guys won’t be done playing with time.” He smirks at his past self. “And you’re not as good at poker as you think you are.”

Past Dean’s eyes flare with offended confusion.

“Never mind,” Dean amends. “Okay. So. Where am I staying, since I’ve got three days to kill?”

Bobby rolls over to the trash and tosses his empty bottle in. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he shrugs. “I can’t get up to my bedroom these days. Might as well take that one. But don’t be screwing things up in there.”

“Fine,” Dean says. He pauses and then can’t resist. “Bobby. It’s um, it’s good to see you.”

Sam looks over at him, forehead creasing a bit.

“I’m guessing I’m dead in your time,” Bobby says bluntly. “Or else you’ve been through some serious therapy in the meantime.” He exhales. “Don’t matter to me. I’m old and can’t walk.”

Dean opens his mouth, and then shuts it. No, he really can’t afford to tell him any more.


	4. Chapter 4

The first day passes boringly, and Dean finds himself wishing he’d been flung back to a time when this Dean and Sam were at least in the middle of a case that he could have helped out with. But as he recalls, they’d had a few weeks between Jesse Turner and the run-in with the witch Patrick. And he’d landed smack in the beginning of that little hiatus.

Awesome.

He’s forgotten how intense everything was in this time. How driven they were to figure out a way, any way, to stop Lucifer from obliterating everything and stop the angels from using him as a vessel. The search for the Colt – and how goddamn _hopeful_ they all were about its effectiveness against Lucifer.

Lying there, curled up the second morning, Dean almost breaks his resolve not to tell them as much as he can. The look on Ellen’s face when Jo announced her plan, and the way they’d staunchly refused to save themselves… All for _nothing_. The fucking Colt had barely knocked Lucifer down for a couple of seconds, and once again, they were grieving the loss of their friends.

But he has no idea what will happen if he tells them anything. They could dismiss his concerns and do the exact same things, they could try to avoid losing Ellen and Jo and somehow still lose them in another way, or they could change the past and fuck up the future in different ways. What if Ellen and Jo are around in his time, but Lucifer’s roaming free and 2015 has a flavor of 2014?

Dean can’t take that risk.

He rolls over and stares up at the ceiling, running his fingers through his hair. 

He really hadn’t intended to let it slip that Bobby died. He only wanted one chance to say that it was good to see him, because it _is_ good to see him and although it’s been more than three years, he still misses Bobby’s crankiness and intelligence. The one thing about the slip is that Bobby was right – he _is_ old, and a hunter’s life is always risky. Getting past thirty is pretty much a miracle, so it’s not exactly a huge surprise to Bobby, Past Dean, and Sam that their friend doesn’t make it. Generally (Dean shakes his head, lost in the what-if of Ellen and Jo), when they have friends, they simply _don’t_ make it.

He considers getting hold of Jo and Ellen while he’s here, to see them again too. But he doesn’t think he’s able. Seeing Bobby, knowing it’s just for a short time, is already reopening enough old wounds. 

“Dean?”

He lifts his head off the pillow. “Yeah, Cas?”

“Are you all right?” Cas stands in the doorway, posture a little stiff in this time. He seems about to say something else, and then doesn’t.

Dean sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “Cas, how much are you allowed to know about the future?” he asks, wanting – _needing_ – to confide in someone. He holds up a hand as Cas starts to reply. “No. You know what? Not putting that burden on you. Forget I said anything.”

Cas walks in and stands in front of the dresser across from the bed. “It depends on what happens, and how much you tell us,” he answers, completely ignoring Dean’s second comment. “You can, of course, tell me unimportant things, or that certain events happen without describing the circumstances. Bobby’s death, for example. I know there are many ways that could have happened in your time, and not knowing the details keeps us from messing with history. If we do end up changing things, you would already know, because for you it has already ha—”

“Stop,” Dean says, getting to his feet. He pauses. “Wait, what about unimportant things? Would I be able to change anything?” Some small spark of an idea is struggling to catch in the back of his mind, like a lighter almost out of butane. How unimportant does the trivial change have to be? Because, for him, the one he’s thinking of is pretty damn important to him… But in the long run…

“If it were something about…” Cas looks like he’s at a loss for words.

“Like seeing a different movie here instead of the one I saw in my history,” Dean suggests. “Or, uh, what about…” He shrugs, feigning thoughtfulness. “A relationship.” Too revealing, he tells himself. “That, um, Sam’s in. Or Bobby. Or, um, me. What about that? Someone that got away?”

Cas squints at him. “It would depend on how important the relationship is, and its impact on your lives. Or will be,” he adds after considering. “Or… would be. It depends on who it is, and how much their involvement would change circumstances and history.”

There are _so_ many things that could have happened differently if he and Cas were together this whole time, Dean reflects. He tries to imagine the changed events, and his mind goes blank for a second because there simply are too many to consider.

The souls. Cas’s idiotic teaming with, and betrayal of, Crowley. Which had led to his releasing the Leviathan and being dead for so long.

That’s probably the biggest one Dean can think of right now. If Cas had trusted him enough to let him in on the plan, maybe he could have been talked down. The Leviathan would have, might have, stayed in Purgatory if Cas hadn’t gone joyriding around with all the souls and given them enough time to grab a toehold, grabbing their chance to escape.

Or if things had turned out differently with Metatron and Cas had his grace, Dean would have never had to let Gadreel possess Sam, because Cas could have done it so easily. _Kevin could have lived._ His stomach twists.

He doesn’t see a way he wouldn’t have gotten the Mark, though. Abaddon would have been running around, and he would have still sought out a way to kill her, any way, even if it meant agreeing to Cain’s offe—

“Dean?”

He jerks his head up from where he’s been staring at the floor. “Yeah. No. No, it’d probably change too much,” he says finally.

Cas nods, uncertain. “Who was it? Or is it?”

“Uhhh….” Jeez, what happened to him being quick on his feet? “Like I said, it might change things, so I don’t wanna get into it right now.” A genius idea hits him. “Besides, it’s probably really _his_ decision anyway.” There. Now that’s ambiguous enough that it could refer to someone unknown Dean had been considering dating, or it could be Sam or Bobby or future Cas (the actual person Dean’s referring to) and their own decision.

“I see,” Cas says slowly, not elaborating. He continues watching Dean’s expression carefully.

Okay, he can’t keep standing here in silence with Cas staring at him this way. “All right!” Dean begins, smiling with completely false gusto. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“Sam’s going to look for a case. He thinks there’s one in Pierre,” Cas says. “I think you—um, current you—is going with him. Bobby wants to get some files organized.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “And you?”

Cas shrugs. “I thought I’d help him. I have no leads on God at the moment, and Bobby is… He is an interesting human being, I must say.”

This time when Dean smiles, it’s genuine. “He’s a bit of a dick, but lovable, huh?” Memories of times at Bobby’s flicker through his mind, all the _idjits_ and insults said with affection if you knew how to listen right. “You know what? I think I’ll help you guys.”


	5. Chapter 5

Going through Bobby’s files and books proves a little bizarre, because some of the information is kicking off waves of nostalgia in Dean, but they’re for things that this Cas and Bobby have no memory of yet. So they’re constantly confused when lines keep crinkling at the edges of Dean’s eyes and his lips turn up. Bobby asks once or twice what the hell is wrong with him that he grins at the information on wraiths and golems, but gives up eventually when Dean keeps his mouth shut.

At one point, Bobby asks Cas to go check in the panic room for a particular stack of books he wants to go through. The second Cas flutters out of the library, Bobby spins his chair to face Dean. “Please. Tell me you didn’t spend the last five years mooning over that angel,” he begs.

Dean drops the file folder on kitsunes. “What are you t—”

“I’m not stupid, boy,” Bobby drawls. “You’re different around him. Different than your past self.” He frowns, and amends this. “Well, your past self is pretty far gone too, but _you’re_ so gone you might as well have hearts in your eyes or something.”

“It’s not like that, Bobby,” Dean protests as he gathers the last of the papers into the folder. “I—”

Bobby glares. “I ain’t no idjit, Dean. Don’t even try with me.”

Dean opens the folder on top of the coffee table, stacking the pages against the folder to straighten them all together. “Yes. Okay? Yes. It _is_ that way. I won’t lie to you. But I can’t do anything about it in my time. Things… It’s terrible fucking timing, is all I’m gonna say.”

“At least you finally admit it,” Bobby says, snatching up his bottle of beer. He takes a long drink. “Progress. I was beginning to think you never would.”

“How long have you kn—” And then Dean swallows the rest of his sentence when Cas suddenly appears with a tottering stack of books reaching up to his shoulders. “Uh, hey, Cas.” A few of the books at the top start sliding forward, and Dean quickly makes a grab for them. “Here, I got those…” His hands brush against Cas’s shoulder as he moves, and he is _absolutely_ not going to look at Bobby right now because his face is probably a little red at the contact.

Luckily, just then the phone rings. Bobby backs away to get it as Dean sets the books down on the coffee table and starts sorting them. Cas steps away. “There are a few more downstairs,” he says. “I wasn’t sure which others to bring.”

“I’ll go with you in a bit here,” Dean tells him, leafing through another book and setting it aside. He can’t stop going back and forth in his mind. Honestly, his and Cas’s lives are so entwined at this point, what would it _really_ change? Cas is so stubborn, there’s a good chance he would have gone ahead with the Purgatory/Crowley plan anyway. 

Dean can’t see a way where his current endpoint wouldn’t be the same, or similar. But if somehow, he could find a _little_ bit of happiness, he and Cas both… It might make things a little easier in the meantime.

Cas takes a seat on the couch next to him, watching him organize but evidently not wanting to mess anything up by helping out and sorting things wrong. Dean tries to ignore the fizziness in his stomach at how close Cas is right now.

Subtle. He has to be subtle. He can’t tell himself things like _when you meet Metatron take him out immediately_ or _don’t let Sam do the trials, they nearly kill him_ or _for fuck’s sake don’t let Cas make the deal with Crowley_. For one, who the hell knows how much the bigger changes would ripple out through the rest of the timeline? For another, Dean knows damn well he’s stubborn and suspicious and might not listen anyway.

Cas picks up one of the books and begins scanning through it. Dean forces himself to get back to the sorting for a few minutes.

 _Subtle_. Something that is so close to happening _anyway_ … 

“All right, then. See you when you get back,” Bobby says, interrupting Dean’s thoughts as he hangs up the phone. “Balls. There’s nothing out there, at least nothing supernatural,” he announces, rolling over to see what Dean’s accomplished. “Waste of a trip. Apparently it’s some human psychopath who’s been abducting people.”

“Yeah, that’s fucked up, but it’s something the authorities can handle,” Dean nods and starts pointing out stacks. “All right. These are good, these either don’t have enough info or you’ve got books that have the same stuff written better, and these I wasn’t sure about.” He pushes his hands into his thighs and stands. “I’m gonna go see which others to bring up.”

Cas follows.

In the basement and panic room, there are damn near enough boxes of books to compete with the Bunker. Bobby is no slouch about research, and certainly no neat freak, because _Jesus_ , this is going to be a several day job if they do actually go through everything. But fortunately, there are only a few books left that Bobby had requested. Cas had brought up about half of them.

“Over here,” Cas says unnecessarily, because Dean had heard the exact area Bobby had mentioned earlier. He starts to head over, but Dean grabs his shoulder as he walks past. “Dean?”

“Stop a second,” Dean orders, his heart thumping a little harder.

Cas turns to face him. “What? What’s wrong? Dean, are you okay?” He frowns, taking a single step closer to Dean.

“Cas, I gotta… tell you something,” Dean says nervously, dropping his hand. “You see, things are… Um… At this point, in my timeline… I… you and me…” _Oh, hell, just do it_. Dean exhales, a little shakily, and edges closer. Gets right up in Cas’s personal space, lifting his palms to rest on Cas’s shoulders. 

And miracle of miracles, Cas doesn’t back away. His eyes are slightly wider, confused, but amazingly, he leans in slightly. “Dean…” His voice doesn’t sound afraid or unwilling; there’s a tiny thread of want.

“I need this,” Dean explains, the words barely above a whisper. And then he pulls Cas in and kisses him.

Cas’s lips are dry, chapped; he didn’t lick them before the kiss (not having basic human instincts and experiences, it simply hadn’t occurred to him). His stubble scrapes against Dean’s lower lip in a way that’s almost unfamiliar, since it’s been a very long time since he kissed a man. And his posture is so goddamn _stiff_ , not knowing how to respond. Finally, awkwardly, he brings his hands up to the back of Dean’s head, his grip a little too tight.

Dean doesn’t want to push things too far too fast, though, and breaks apart after a short time without even licking into Cas’s mouth. When he opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him in shock, his pupils slightly larger. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, stepping back a little and staring at the floor uncomfortably.

“What was _that_?” Cas’s breathing is a bit irregular. “Are we… together in the future?”

Dean doesn’t really know how to answer that and goes over to start gathering the remaining books in his arms. “Um,” he says articulately. He tips his head back, shutting his eyes for a second. He looks over at Cas’s baffled, flushed face. “Sort of. I mean… we might as well be. We’re not, like…” He gestures vaguely. “We’re so close that _everyone_ knows about it and cracks on us. But it’s all kind of subtle, you know?”

“Do we…” Cas actually seems embarrassed about what he’s trying to ask. “Do we have a sexual relationship?”

Christ, he’s forgotten how blunt Cas used to be before living so long among humans had softened his angel strangeness. “Nope,” Dean replies, thinking how much he wishes that were the case. “Never even kissed.” He grins. “Till now, anyway. We’re just really, really close. Ridiculously so.”

“So we’re in love?” Cas frowns, still with the bluntness. 

Dean opens his mouth, and then shuts it. Basically. Although he’s always found it difficult to say those words in particular. “…Y-yeah,” he manages eventually, shrugging. “But we’ve never really admitted it.”

Cas stacks the books remaining on the table and picks them up. “And why couldn’t we—you do that in your time?” 

“Long, complicated story, Cas,” Dean says. “But Bobby’s gonna suspect something if we’re down here too much longer, so let’s go bring these upstairs.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a good makeout scene! Woo! :P It gets a _tad_ sensual, but I wasn't sure if it was Mature enough for the rating. Changed it anyway, just to be on the safe side.  
> 

Bobby does look at them funny when they get back upstairs, but he doesn’t say anything. He does, however, scoff when Dean claims that the books had fallen behind the table (hoping that would be a decent enough excuse for their lateness).

Dean’s past self and Sam are still more than two and a half hours out, and there are several books and files Bobby has marked for organizing. This job would really go a lot easier if there were multiple people working, but they’ll do what they can.

After almost two hours, three different Miscellaneous folders, and five boxes of books, Bobby backs his wheelchair up and yawns. “Can’t decide if I want coffee or a nap,” he mutters, blinking and rubbing a hand down his face. 

“I’ll say,” Dean agrees, tossing a few sheets of paper in the trash. “Those aren’t really worth saving – you have better information on werewolves in a couple different books.”

Cas is intent on reading a section from the beginning of a book, apparently bemused.

“Keep working,” Bobby tells him. He starts to roll out of the library. “I’m gonna go pass out. And hey,” he adds as an afterthought, curving the wheelchair so he glances back at Dean. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” He cuts his eyes over to Cas warningly; Cas doesn’t notice.

“Right, Bobby,” Dean nods. “I’ll probably get lunch started in a minute here. You want anything?”

“I’m good. I can get my own later. Just cause I can’t walk don’t mean I need a nurse. Or a chef, rather.”

Dean sets aside a fairly informative book on demonic possession. “Yeah, but you do need a maid,” he mutters under his breath.

“I heard that, boy,” Bobby says on his way out. “Don’t forget, I could charge you two for staying here. You and Sam come in my house, eat my food and drink my beer…” He rolls away, muttering to himself.

Cas sets the book on the same pile it had been on. “Dean…”

“Yeah, Cas.”

“I’m… okay with this, with you and me.” Cas doesn’t quite meet his eye, uncertain and hesitant and cautious.

Dean’s breath catches. “Me too,” he manages. Cas looks at him in wonder. 

They’ve been subconsciously growing closer as they speak, and they’re only a few inches from each other now. Cas shuts his eyes, his lashes fluttering down against the omnipresent bags. Dean follows suit and then leans in to close the distance between them.

Cas is frustratingly inexperienced, obviously, and his motions are a little stiff. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, so Dean lifts them and places them on the back of his own neck before letting _his_ hands slide around to Cas’s back. He slides his tongue forward, not urgently, just tracing along Cas’s lips and letting him know he’s here. But Cas knows what Dean’s doing, and he opens his mouth to let him in.

They shift position, Dean gradually and carefully nudging Cas back against the couch so that they’re semi-lying down. He realizes fondly that Cas’s palms are still on the nape of his neck, and breaks the kiss barely long enough to speak. “You can move them, you know,” he says, reaching up to rub along Cas’s forearm before diving back in to the warmth of his mouth.

He feels Cas’s hands drift down to hold onto the small of his back as they lie fully horizontally, Cas tucked safely under Dean. And Dean lets his kisses migrate down to Cas’s neck, loving every inch of the stubble brushing against his lips along the way and sucking gently. When he increases the pressure, Cas whimpers and his grip tightens on Dean’s skin, nails digging into the skin. He’s hard against Dean’s hip already.

Dean pulls back a little. “You’ve never even had a good necking session before, really?” he asks in astonishment. Cas shakes his head. “I mean, I knew you were basically a virgin angel, but _damn_ …” A slight flush colors Cas’s face, and Dean pauses for a moment. “Are you okay with this, Cas? Do you want to stop?”

“Absolutely not,” Cas says throatily, a bit of annoyance in his gravelly voice. He pulls his hands out of the bottom of Dean’s shirt and reaches up to yank him closer by the backs of his shoulders. 

Dean can only hope Bobby’s taking a long nap, because things are getting a little out of control. He slots his legs between Cas’s and opens his knees to force Cas’s apart before lining up against him. When he rolls his hips forward, Cas writhes up against him and calls his name in a wrecked voice. “ _Dean_ …”

Oh, he is _so_ going to save this memory, and especially that tone, for alone time in the future. Regardless of what happens. Dean licks his way into Cas’s mouth again, slower this time, taking this chance to explore more of how Cas tastes. He damn sure _better_ change history, because he’s not sure he can stand to be without this now that he knows how it can be between the two of them. 

Dean cards his fingers in Cas’s hair, thinking how it’s slightly longer in his time and wanting the chance to do this again when he can really fuck it up.

Cas’s hands are getting greedy now, one sliding back up under Dean’s shirt to press between his shoulder blades and the other grazing down to cup his ass. Dean breaks the kiss off and grins down at Cas. “Fast learner,” he murmurs, thinking of a certain _other_ kiss Cas had with a demon when Dean hadn’t quite known what to do with himself as he stood by and watched.

“Get back here,” Cas all but growls, lifting his head to kiss him again.

Dean can do that.

He might be in trouble here. Cas is driving him closer and closer to the edge. He’s using his grip on Dean’s ass to pull his hips down before bumping his own up, over and over. It’s definitely awkward, and Dean can do his own hip rolls, but he goes with it because watching and feeling Cas learn is _amazing_.

One particular sharp drag of their bodies forces Dean to push up off Cas, propping himself up. “Holy shit, Cas,” he breathes. “I don’t… Oh my god.” It’s hard to find reasons why they can’t finish this, but then: _Bobby. Sam. Other me._ They’re all due to get back or to wake up soon, and Dean _really_ doesn’t want to give them a show. “Gonna have to… Have to stop here.”

Cas frowns up at him. “Dean…”

“I know, it sucks, but Past Me and Sam’ll be back in…” Dean checks his watch, blinking hard when he reads the time. “Ten minutes? Damn.” He and Cas had been making out for more than half an hour – it had felt like five minutes.

“Dammit,” Cas groans, tipping his head back against the pillow. His face is red and his lips are still swollen, and Dean can’t resist diving back in to kiss him one last time.

Past Dean, he realizes, could very well undo everything. Dean’s no coward, except when he sometimes is. He can easily see his past self denying anything happened – and Cas being a little too unsure to start things with him.

“Hang on to this,” Dean pleads, grasping fistfuls of Cas’s coat. “Once I go back to my own time? Don’t let me – past me – run from this. I know him.”

“He is stubborn,” Cas laughs up at him, running a hand along Dean’s temple. “Are you sure, though?”

Dean nods fervently. “Yes. I _know_ him, myself, Cas. You know when I knew I was sure?” Cas shakes his head. “When you blew Zachariah out of the green room. But I think something’s always been there since the barn and I couldn’t admit it till later.”

When Cas gives him the trademark Confused Squint, Dean can’t resist kissing him again, reaching down to slip his fingers around to the nape of Cas’s neck. “You walked in, all tough boring blandness—,” Cas’s lips quirk at the memory, “—and I just… _fuck_. I was gone, man.*”

Cas kisses slowly along Dean’s jawline, making his way from Dean’s ear toward his chin. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he breathes as he goes. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you were an idiot.”

Dean sighs. “So if I really change things, you and I’ll be together, but I’ll never live that spell down, will I?”

Cas reaches his chin and lightly kisses his mouth. “Nope,” he says as he prods Dean’s mouth open again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * _[[Dean would] be attracted to someone who walked in the door, slaughtered everybody and walked out. And then he would say ‘Who’s that?’. - Erik Kripke.](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/70842393081/kristalbrooks-dean-would-be-attracted-to)_  
>  That gifset is a little out of sync at first, but it says it should sync up after a little bit.  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

For once in his life, Dean’s glad the Impala’s engine is so loud. It roars through the silence outside and straight into the house.

He and Cas part and hurriedly climb into a sitting position. Dean rubs at his lips to dry them, and adjusts to tuck and hide his erection. Cas scoots all the way to the other end of the sofa and sits facing away from him, pulling the edges of his trench coat forward.

“Hey, guys,” Sam says way too cheerfully as he walks in, Past Dean a few steps behind him. Sam stops short and narrows his eyes.

Dean waves a hand in one quick motion. “Sorry it wasn’t a real case.”

“Yeah, well, you couldn’t have _told_ us that?” Past Dean complains, setting down his duffle bag of various backup weapons and rock salt. “Where’s Bobby?”

“I’m here, I’m here,” the man in question drawls, rolling into the library. “Slept too long,” he adds, glaring at Dean and Cas. “ _Somebody_ didn’t wake me.”

Dean scoffs. “It’s not our job to act as your alarm clock.”

Bobby rolls his eyes and looks away.

“I gotta talk to you,” Sam suddenly says in his no-nonsense voice.

Dean lifts an eyebrow. “Okay. Sure.”

They head outside in silence. Dean waits to make sure he’s no longer excited, and then leans back against the Impala, crossing his arms. “Shoot.”

Sam struggles with words. “I want to kn… I mean, if…” He raises a hand and drops it uselessly. “If I, or if Lucifer…”

Damn, this is strange. The struggle to keep the angels from pushing Dean into saying yes, and the search for Lucifer, had seemed so _intense_ at the time. And it was. But despite the gravity of the situation, Dean is hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. Things are simpler here. Not easier, certainly, but the lines are less ill-defined. 

Not for the first time, it strikes Dean how insane their lives really are, that worries about Lucifer seem almost quaint.

“You wanna know if you ever say yes to Lucifer, and if I ever say yes to Michael,” Dean clarifies. Sam nods without meeting his gaze. “Sammy, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess, sorry.” Sam nervously smooths his hair back.

Dean considers what he _can_ tell him. “I don’t… Just think about this: I’m here. I’m from 2015. So obviously I made it out alive.”

“But Bobby doesn’t.” There’s a slight question mark at the end of Sam’s sentence as he cocks his head in uncertainty.

“He does for a while,” Dean admits. “Look, in my time, everything’s o—Well, I’m not gonna be ridiculous and say everything’s _okay_ , but… You did your part. You undid freeing Lucifer.” _And then some_ , he thinks, cringing at the memory of Sam’s soul stuck in Hell for eighteen months, and the calculation of how many years that is downstairs. _You saved the world, but goddammit, Sammy, the price it took on you…_ It’s been four years since that time Sam was losing sleep and bleeding sanity, but to this day Dean sometimes has nightmares of how fast his brother was falling apart. Or nightmares of his brother's soul trapped downstairs. The time with the Trials had only kicked them back as once _again_ Dean had been helpless to do anything but stand by and watch Sam’s disintegration.

He glances up at Sam now. Sam is haunted, although it’s a pale imitation of how he will be in a few years’ time. “No, seriously, little brother,” Dean says, reaching out to hang onto his shoulder. “Things are okay.”

Sam attempts a smile. “Thanks, Dean.” He lifts his chin. “So. You. You and Cas there, huh?”

Dean drops his hand and frowns in confusion. “What are y—How did you—”

“I’m your brother, moron. I know you. This version of you is different when you’re with him.” Sam’s lips quirk. “Not to mention how very determined you both were to maintain extra distance after your past self and I got back.”

“Fuck,” Dean says, rubbing both palms over his hair. “Yeah. I kissed him. I kind of… can’t, with the way things are in my time. Everything’s …” He shakes his head. “But I mean, I’m here, and I guess I just thought…”

Sam leans back on the side of the Impala next to him. “Aren’t you worried about changing things?”

“Yeah, actually,” Dean nods. “Maybe it was stupid. But I… It’s impossible in the future. I wasted so much fucking time. Such an idiot.” He exhales roughly, frustrated. Three goddamn years in denial, one off the grid with Lisa, months of mourning or angst about Cas’s insanity or searching Purgatory for him… There’s always something in the way. Naomi, Gadreel, Metatron. Even _Dean_ , running around as a demon and clinging to the inhumanity because it was simply easier than hurting over everything else (not just Cas). 

And now, the Mark, leading him slowly to his death or worse. Anything he does in 2015 is going to be too painful. Worse than not starting anything at all. He can’t do that to Cas.

“Dean?”

And maybe things _can_ turn out differently if he changes this small thing. If they can figure out a way to take down Abaddon without him having to ac—

“Dean? Dean!”

He blinks, snapping back to attention. “Sorry.”

Sam stares over at him. “Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’ve known the whole time there was something between you two. And I’ll be the first one throwing the rice at your wedding.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean says with a good eye roll.

“I’m only saying, what if you screw something up by doing this?” Sam asks. “You ever think of that?”

Dean lifts his shoulders helplessly. “Seriously? If you saw the way we were – um, are? – between now and my time, it…” His eyes unfocus for a second and he falls into silence before speaking again. “I really don’t think it’ll change much. We’re already pretty gross around each other.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth lifts when Dean looks over. “I know what you mean.”

“No, you have no idea,” Dean insists. “I remember it being bad at this point, but it gets so much worse. It’s embarrassing. The number of times you’ve had to cough or something, let us know you’re still in the room… I’m thinking of you here, Sammy. If this does happen, and I actually do change things… It’s for your sake, really. The sooner we get over ourselves, the better.”

Sam laughs, turning to face him and leaning sideways against the Impala. “Whatever. And, Dean, like I said, I’m happy for you both. But if things get too fucked up? You should come back and make sure things are the same. Well, the way they were before. Or will be. You know?”

“I will,” Dean says, hoping he’s doing the right thing.


	8. Chapter 8

The front door bangs open, and Past Dean himself jogs down the steps. “Hey. Me-myself-and-I,” he begins. “We need to talk.” He’s wearing the expression Dean always uses when he’s pissed, but trying to keep from yelling because it’s an important topic. Great.

Sam lifts his eyebrows at Dean. “I’m gonna go and… see if Bobby has anything else he wants sorted,” he says none-too-subtly.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean calls behind him. “Run away!”

“Hey, this is _your_ business,” Sam snickers, passing Past Dean and clapping him on the shoulder as he walks. “This is between you and _you_.”

Past Dean watches him enter the house, and then turns to advance on Dean. “What the fuck.” No question mark. A sentence.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, don’t deny it. I know everything about you, and how you feel about Cas. Let’s not bullshit ourselves here.”

“You _kissed_ him? What the hell were you thinking?!” Past Dean demands, throwing his hands up. “First of all, did it ever occur to us that you might have freaked him out? That he didn’t fee—”

“Oh, he feels the same, believe me,” Dean says, remembering the pressure against his hip and how frantically they’d had to scramble apart when they’d heard the Impala outside. He has absolutely no control over the leer that spreads across his face, and wouldn’t stop it if he could because screwing with his past self is a little too much fun.

Past Dean jerks back slightly, blinking. “What _happened_ between y—You know what? Don’t think I wanna know.” He takes a deep breath, steadying himself on Baby’s hood. “Just think about this a minute, uh, me. If you end u—”

“No, _you_ think about this a minute,” Dean orders him. “Think about how many times we’ve looked at him that way. Think about how there wasn’t anything at all between us and Jimmy. Think about the way he looked at us when he came to bring us back from 1973. And now think of any other angel we’ve met – can you honestly think of any of them, even Anna, looking at us that way? Hell, think of any _humans_ too – _nobody_ looks at us like that. Except Cas.”

Past Dean shuffles uncomfortably, drumming his fingertips on the Impala’s hood. “It’d be too much of a change, anyway,” he mutters, head down. “Who knows what we’d change?”

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “I’ve got a theory, though. I don’t think it’d change much. We’re already so close, it’s kind of pathetic.”

“I…” Past Dean meets his gaze. “Are you sure?”

Dean nods.

“Fine.” Past Dean shuts his eyes. “Okay. But—If this fucks things up, can you have Cas send you back here to fix things back the way they should’ve been? How they happened, or will happen, whatever?”

“I will. And Dean? You know part of this is you too,” Dean says, amazed at how much he and Sam are on the same wavelength. “He knows how we feel now. Don’t push him away.”

A slight flush rises in Past Dean’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he scoffs.

“I mean it, dammit,” Dean insists.

Past Dean sighs. “I’ll try,” he says after a moment. 

They stand in silence, a weird sort of camaraderie between them. It’s the kind of uneasy solidarity between enemies teaming up to take someone on – the kind of uncomfortable solidarity, in fact, that existed between himself and Crowley before. 

It occurs to Dean that his past self still doesn’t even _know_ Crowley. How weird.

“So tell me something,” Past Dean says. “I don’t… Do I ever…”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Let Michael wear you?”

Past Dean looks uncertain. “Yeah.”

“What do _you_ think?” And that’s all Dean will tell him, but judging from his expression, it’s enough for Past Dean to feel a little more at ease.


	9. Chapter 9

The third day, the work Bobby has for them has started to reach its finish line. There are, obviously, hundreds more books in the kitchen and library, but the unsorted boxes are nearly all organized.

Dean waits several hours for Past Dean to do or say something. Anything. But his past self seems intent on pretending Cas doesn’t exist. And Cas is doing his best to act like it doesn’t matter – hell, if someone watches them work, they would never suspect Cas is hurt.

But Dean can tell.

He’s tempted to get Cas alone somewhere and round a couple bases, but he knows he can’t. This angel is not _his_ angel, and Dean is not _this_ Cas’s Dean. He’s already done the work of opening Cas’s eyes that hey, there’s something seriously important between them and it’s mutual.

Toward sunset, Dean tries to subtly arrange things by asking Cas to go snag them all some more beers, and “hey, Past Me – go make sure he gets the right ones.” The bitchface he gets in return is a fairly impressive imitation of Sam’s trademark glare, and Dean snickers to himself.

Bobby, Sam, and Dean work in silence, all of them aware of the elephant in the room and all a little uncomfortable to mention anything about it. And when Past Dean and Cas return, they’re moving awkwardly, but more in the “maintain enough distance between each other” sense than in the “we were totally making out” sense. They both take seats on the couch, but keep to opposite sides and end up using the middle cushion for the sorted books.

Night starts to creep in first in the changing light and the switching on of lamps, and then in the infinitesimal tiredness making its presence known in all of them. For some reason, this long overdue and agonizingly dull work is more exhausting than getting knocked around in fights with demons. Maybe because there’s not the slightest trace of adrenaline to keep them all going.

Around 11, Bobby bows out and goes off to the side room he’s been using as a bedroom downstairs. He gives Dean a long look that Dean can’t quite decipher, and nods. “Night, idjits.”

They keep working, because there are four boxes in the room and they’re all only partially sorted. An hour into things, Sam suddenly slams down a book he’s been staring at without reading and pushes his chair away from the desk. “Okay.”

“Finally,” Dean mutters.

Past Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“Dean, I have something like eleven hours left here,” Dean tells his past self, stretching his arms over his head tiredly. 

“Ten,” Cas corrects with an upward flick of his gaze to the clock. “It was a little after ten when you called me.”

“Right. Thanks, Cas,” Dean says. He gets up from his chair and paces a little to loosen up his muscles. “I want to be sure things are gonna be okay when I go back.”

Sam quirks his lips. “Yeah, I’m pretty sick of feeling invisible when you guys act like you’re alone. I’m hoping if you get the fuck over yourselves, things’ll tone down a little.”

“Things will be fine,” Past Dean insists. He glances away, apparently still a little nervous. 

There’s a heavy silence.

Past Dean exhales. “They _will_ ,” he says, finally gazing over at Cas. And suddenly, Dean understands how Sam feels, because there it is. _There’s_ that nobody-else-around stare, and it is _beyond_ weird seeing it from the outside. Cas smiles back at Past Dean and reaches a hand over between them.

Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean and smirks. Dean can’t even be annoyed.

When Past Dean takes Cas’s hand, Dean lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding until now.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter, I felt, was a little long. Not enough to really justify splitting it, but then again I did want to rewrite part of the second section. So here you go with the first part for now! :)

At ten AM the next morning, they’re all waiting in the library, not sure how precise the spell’s limitations will be. Sam’s standing near Dean, while Cas and Past Dean are on the couch again, closer than before but still a bit of distance between them. Boxes are lined up against the wall by the door: extra or outdated or irrelevant books from the days of work. Bobby is seated next to them, peeking at the books he can see in the top and making sure there’s nothing accidentally discarded.

“It’s good knowing you make it that far, Dean,” he says, breaking the silence and looking up. When Dean starts to stutter out a reply, he glares. “No, don’t start with that about me, I don’t care. I’m glad _you_ and Sam and even Cas make it that far.” Cas looks over in surprise at being included

Bobby extends his hand to Dean in request. Dean shakes it solidly.

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam agrees. “Makes it easier to deal with going back to things here when you leave.” He hesitates. “So, you’re sure you can’t tel—”

“No,” Dean says immediately.

Sam shrugs. “Worth one last shot.” He sighs. “It’s—uh, Bobby’s right. It’s good seeing you’re around that far in the future.” He steps closer and hugs Dean.

This version of Sam has definitely put on more weight and muscle than he’d had at first, but he’ll get even more in the years to come. Dean grins and backs away.

“So one last thing,” Past Dean asks.

Dean lifts his chin in acknowledgment.

“What’s with the voice? You trying to compete with Cas or something?” Cas actually smiles at this, but Past Dean isn’t paying attention.

Sam laughs. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but…”

“I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, self-conscious now about how low he’d actually let it get. “Kinda just happened. And yours is getting there too,” he adds as an afterthought.

Past Dean pulls the face that Dean does when he’s recognizing a good point.

Cas shifts position a fraction of an inch closer to Past Dean, still looking over at Current Dean. “In case you get back, and things are too different, and you have to come back so this excursion never happened – thank you.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean nods awkwardly. “Yeah, I’ll, uh, see you s—” 

It happens very suddenly, for Dean. He’s in the middle of his sentence – and then the outdated warmth of Bobby’s awful red wallpaper is replaced by white walls, the change so jarring that for a half-second he wonders if he’s fainting. But it’s only the shower around him, echoing with the dripping of water not quite shut off all the way.

Dean turns and tightens the knob, stopping the dripping faucet.

It was – is – night in 2015 when he said the spell, so although he’s barely been up for a couple hours he’s suddenly weary now, the present time affecting him more than Dean thinks it should. He shakes his head and grabs the T shirt and boxers he’d intended to sleep in the first time around.

Originally in 2015, Sam was on a grocery run, so if everything is basically the same, Dean’s going to go ahead and assume Sam is still out.

The Mark is still on his arm, of course. He’d known that wouldn’t change.

Dean spends a short time online, scanning news articles for differences in this (new?) timeline. After a while, he gets into bed and puts his headphones on. He’s lying there, too awake to fall asleep yet but too tired to give up and go do something else. 

He stares up at the ceiling, doubting if he did anything different at all. Kevin’s room is the same way they’d left it in a sort of memorial to him, the Mark is still there burning away on his arm, and the Internet search had turned up plenty of articles on a “freak meteor shower” a year and a half ago.

Nothing seems to have changed. And Sam’s not around either, so he can’t simply ask. He could call/pray for Cas to show. And he will, in a second here. He’s just really enjoying whatever song’s playing. He’s definitely not thinking so hard that he can’t even register what _band_ is playing.

He’s not stalling. He’s not lying here because he’s afraid to find out what changed. He’s not lying here because he’s worried his past self wussed out or something. _He’s_ no coward, and his past self wasn’t one either. So there’s no reason for worry in the first place, right?

Vague noises slide past the music, and Dean takes his headphones off to listen. Somebody’s in the Bunker. He shifts to get off the bed, but stops. Speak of the devil – or the angel, rather. It’s Cas, walking in wearing that too-short, too-dark replacement trench coat. “H-hey,” Dean greets him shakily, a tiny bubble of hope in his chest.

Cas smiles warmly at him. “Hello, Dean. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Dean nods. “Got a lot of downtime back in 2009. It was… It was good to get a break from all the angst.”

“Ah, yes, the peace and contentment of Lucifer and the Apocalypse,” Cas says dryly, slipping his trench coat and suit jacket off. He sets them on the back of the chair by the bed, and then steps out of his shoes before beginning to unbutton the dress shirt.

Dean’s eyes are wide. “Cas, what are you…?”

Cas is down to boxers now. He drapes the pants with the rest of his clothes on the chair and walks over to the bed. “Scoot,” he says, lifting the sheets.

Holy hell. Dean slides over wordlessly, his heart starting to pick up a little. “Cas?”

“Dean?” Cas volleys back in the same tone as he settles in on his side. He searches Dean’s face. “I’m glad you’re back,” he says, and kisses him.


	11. Chapter 11

The gentle, soft press of his lips seems to be what does it for Dean. In a sudden, overwhelming rush of [memories](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3422366), moments flicker through his head, subtle differences of circumstances – but all with the same rush of affection and warmth and need as the original events.

Slow comfort sex after losing Ellen and Jo, the alleyway in the rain where Cas had dragged him behind a Dumpster after beating him up to gently jerk him off, sleeping with the filthy trenchcoat under his pillow for months when Cas was gone because despite the smell of everything staining it there was enough left of Cas’s scent to hold onto, seeing Cas again as a faith healer with amnesia and wondering if his wife dragged the same sounds from him at night that Dean once did.

Cas pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead as he healed the injuries he’d inflicted in the crypt, their supposed last fuck in the bar bathroom before Cas was going to lock up heaven, leaving Nora’s after the Rit Zien situation and fucking Cas so hard into the motel bed that Dean’s hips ached the rest of the night, calling Cas to tell him about “Destiel” and laughing at Cas’s uncomprehending insistence that “pronouncing both names separately isn’t that much effort, Dean.”

How obscene the love in Cas’s gaze had been at the restaurant and how much Dean wanted to swipe everything off the table and pull him onto it, Dean freezing when Sam mentioned that nothing gets deleted online because _oops_ maybe he and Cas shouldn’t have gone quiiiiite that sext-happy (complete with nudes), and how he’d recently attempted to break things off with Cas before fighting Cain and Cas refusing and saying he would stay with Dean until the end – whatever that entailed.

Dean draws back from Cas now, staring in absolute shock and amazement. So everything they’ve been through… Everything was almost the same.

His memories of other events are unaffected. Sam in Hell (Dean feels the blood drain from his face), Sam’s soul left behind, Cas’s deal with Crowley, Leviathan, Sam’s insanity (Dean’s heart thuds with the memory), _Cas’s_ insanity, Purgatory, the Trials, the angels’ expulsion, Metatron, Gadreel, Kevin (a lead weight in Dean’s stomach), the Mark, Abaddon, Dean’s demonic self, the slaughter a couple months earlier… Everything aside from their relationship happened exactly as it already had.

_Exactly._

“Are you all right?” Cas says now, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

He was right after all. Their lives _have_ been so hopelessly entangled that stepping over this line didn’t change a damn thing. So his worries over causing the Apocalypse after all or never getting Sam’s soul back or not being able to stop the Leviathan or Sam plowing ahead with the Trials – none of that matters. Everything played out identically, the bad as well as the good.

“Dean?”

He honestly has trouble speaking for a moment. “I… You’re… We’re…”

Cas smiles slowly, lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “You’re okay. Spit it out.”

“We’re _together_ ,” Dean says, astonished. “We’re… you and me. This is real.”

“Well, _yes_ , Dean…” Cas teases quietly, but then his mirth begins to fade. “No, something happened when you were in the past. Tell me.” He leans in and presses his lips against Dean’s, pulling back to stare intensely.

Dean takes a deep breath and begins to tell him about the three days in 2009, and the altered timeline.

Afterward, Cas’s gaze is a little fuzzy, distant. “I remember that,” he says now. “I was so confused why you were so earnest… I didn’t know that in your time, we were that close and yet didn’t—I thought we’d really been together all this time.”

The grin creeping along Dean’s face feels like it’s gonna crack his face in two. “Cas? We _have_. Now.”

Cas kisses him again, tracing his hands along Dean’s jawline. “I’m glad,” he whispers, and then there are no more words.

It’s not their first time sleeping with each other, by far. The _first_ time had happened shortly after Dean went from his 60s to 30 again, when he was full of energy and a second chance. He’d begged Cas to take a break from the God search, calling him to their hotel room. Stammering nervously, he’d sent Sam out, knowing exactly how bad his brother would tease him the morning after.

But Dean’s memories of the different history haven’t faded yet. They’re still there with him, imprinted like lines on skin from a cheap couch nap. 

So he’s in shock when Cas effortlessly pulls off his clothes, his fingers grazing up along Dean’s sides and leaving overheated skin in their wake. Cas tosses the gray T shirt aside and starts on Dean’s boxers with the fluid movements of long practice.

And he’s in wonder while Cas works him over like it’s his favorite goddamn hobby. And hell, with the expertise of his fingers working busily inside Dean and the rhythm of his tongue as they kiss, maybe it is.

And he’s in awe as they come together, one after the other almost in unison. Cas laughs softly at Dean’s stunned babbles of “Oh my god, Cas” and “Holy shit” and “ _Jesus_ …” as he rolls away to fetch the tissues.

In the afterglow, breath rough and jagged, they lie staring at the ceiling. After a while, Dean glances over at Cas. “Hey,” he says simply. “I’m glad we have, too.”

Cas’s smile lights up the room. After a moment or two, he leans up on one elbow and traces the anti-possession tattoo over Dean’s chest. “What else was different?” he asks, pressing his lips to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean shakes his head. “Not much of anything. Except a lot more eye fucking – and a whole lot less _actual_ sex.”

The lines crease at the edge of Cas’s eyes when he looks back up. “We still do the eye thing,” he says, amused.

“Man, you have no idea,” Dean grins.

Cas brushes his fingers on the side of Dean’s face. “I love you, Dean.”

“You, too,” Dean is finally able to admit.

They settle in to sleep, Dean lying back against Cas and staring at the wall without seeing it. As they start to drift off, Dean finds his thoughts returning to the Mark on his arm. He’s no closer in this timeline to figuring out a way out. But although the _situation_ is the same, his mood set about it is somehow different. 

There’s no way he can solve this thing with the power of love, or anything bullshitty like that. But they _will_ figure something out. Somehow. All three of them. He’s done with the rolling over and giving up. From here on out, now that he’s gotten a small glimpse of happiness, he’s damn sure gonna try and hang onto it.

Dean chuckles once, shortly. Besides, if he dies from the Mark, Sam is going to _kill_ him.

Even in his sleep, Cas hears him laugh, and his arms tighten around Dean. “Uhh?” he murmurs sleepily, not waking completely.

Dean tilts his head to the side to look back at Cas’s face. Cas is sleeping with his mouth open, head tilted back and drooling and about as unattractive as it gets. 

He’s gorgeous. And he’s _here_. In Dean’s bed and in his life.

History has been rewritten, and Dean is nothing if not grateful.


End file.
